


Can't We Just Be Friends?

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: Canon Relationships, FBI Stings, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an FBI sting goes horribly wrong, everyone's world is suddenly turned upside down.<br/>Set sometime during Season 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bait

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Treon for the beta.

     _“I’m married to Caffrey?!!!”_ Diana exclaimed in a voice several octaves higher than her normal tone. Her disbelieving expression managed to look incredulous as well as appalled. Her fellow agents around the conference table held their breaths.

“No, no, no,” Peter hastily responded, trying to put out a fire. “The two of you are not actually _married_ ; you’re a ‘ _couple_ ,’—you know, like exclusively dating one another at the moment.”

     Neal certainly did not help matters when he quipped, “But hope springs eternal that I’ll eventually be successful in stealing your heart.” The handsome conman then favored his co-worker with a blissful smile.

     “Not if I strangle you first,” was the female agent’s less than witty comeback.

     If it weren’t juvenilely unprofessional, Diana would have given in to the urge to stamp her foot in disgruntled frustration. It was with great reluctance that she had come to abide the brash, sometimes infuriating, criminal during the last year. Tolerate, yes—trust—not so much. However, the young ex-con was her boss’s pet project, and she respected Peter Burke, while her feelings for Neal Caffrey were a whole other story. But this was her job, so she would have to get on board with this less than appealing farce involving an undercover sting to retrieve stolen artwork.

      That current White Collar case was the impetus fueling this whole situation, which was actually a “Hail Mary” play on the Feds’ part to capture a ring of international thieves who managed to steal priceless paintings from museums around the globe. Unfortunately, there was no pattern to the thefts, so local authorities never knew what venerable institution was going to be next on the hit list. However, Interpol had finally managed to unearth an intriguing fact.

     Not long after a high-profile heist, a very private soiree was always held in a rich, glamorous city somewhere around the world where money moguls, oil-rich sheiks, and discerning wealthy collectors of every nationality gathered. It was rumored that a very élite auction of purloined art took place amidst champagne and canapés, with millions of dollars, euros, dirhams, yen, yuan, or whatever exchanging hands. The stolen masterpieces then went home to mansions with ostentatious Great Halls belonging to individuals with more money than scruples who wanted only the theoretically unattainable. Even though the new owners could never have their desired acquisitions photographed by _“House Beautiful,”_ nonetheless, they _possessed_ them, and that was enough to satisfy their covetous egos.

     The surreptitious auctions were by invitation only, and the guest list was quite selective. To get a foot in the door, any aspiring guest had to make sure that the right people heard of their interest in the missing piece, and their willingness to acquire it at any cost. Those individuals were then discretely, but thoroughly, vetted before receiving the coveted linen card that held only a date and time engraved in gold leaf upon its surface. Tenacious digging by the New York FBI had discovered from a phantom source that the next secret gala was taking place somewhere in New York City in just five days, so those little envelopes would be delivered quite soon.

     Interpol was cooperating in a joint operation by putting pressure on a wealthy German industrialist who had attended one such event in the past. This man’s father had been one of Hitler’s SS, who was thought to have tucked away many genuine masterpieces from the Fuhrer’s private collection when the fall of the Reich was imminent. The son had inherited the treasures upon his father’s death, which he brazenly displayed in his Berlin home.

     Now, the man was between a rock and a hard place because a determined Jewish contingent was bringing charges against him for possession of items that he knew had been stolen from their wealthy ancestors on their way to concentration camps. When the German authorities investigated, they found those Nazi-appropriated works right alongside of pieces that authenticators identified as recently taken from museums.

     Trying to mitigate his punishment, the German was willing to help the FBI by providing a fabricated back-story for Diana. It was quite fortuitous that this rather unscrupulous man happened to know a diplomat or two in Europe. He would claim that he had attended various embassy functions where he met very wealthy and influential people, and he would suggest that Diana was one such person. He would whisper in the right ear that this young woman was estranged from her rich family, but thanks to an immense trust fund, was quite well heeled in her own right. He also promised to vouch for her discretion, saying that she was a wayward, lawless soul with an undisciplined thirst for only the very best, and he knew that she was definitely interested in what the cadre was putting up for auction.    

     “So,” Peter began as he looked at his agent, “you are now Jacqueline Sterling, a British expat, who calls home either your villa in Spain or your apartment on the Rue Foch in Paris. Cannes, Ibiza, and Rio are your playgrounds, and you have never worked a day in your life. You’ve never been married or had a child because you have been too busy indulging your hedonistic pleasures. Neal is the latest eye candy that you have acquired, and who has kept your interest. Neal has picked his own choice of alias for the operation. He’ll be going by the name Donovan Hilton, although I’m not quite sure what prompted that moniker,” Peter said with a shake of his head.

     “Peter,” Neal explained patiently, “we’ll be staying at the Waldorf Astoria, a venerable old Art Deco hotel from the 1930’s. Although it was Astor money that built it, that last name is a bit over-the-top with pretention. However, Conrad Hilton was the one who eventually bought the iconic establishment in 1949. The name ‘Hilton’ is more generic, and it is less likely that people will make a connection. And it will definitely work better for me to get into the proper headspace for my character. You see, Frank Sinatra lived at the Waldorf for awhile, and some say that his ghost still visits occasionally.”

     Diana interrupted the con artist during his ridiculous rambling. “So, let me get this straight, Peter. Caffrey and I are going to have to share a room at the Waldorf Astoria? Why does it have to be him going undercover with me instead of some other Federal agent?”

     Peter sighed and patiently explained that Neal had the knowledge and expertise to identify original artwork with just a cursory glance.

     Neal then smiled lecherously and winked his eye at Diana. “Don’t worry, Darlin’, I can multi-task. I’ll make sure to keep you so happy and contented that by tomorrow night, you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

     The other agents at the conference table snickered behind their files, and Diana threw her pen at Neal’s head.

     “No fighting, children; play nice,” Peter scolded. “Neal, stop baiting your co-worker. Diana, we are reserving a large suite at the hotel. It’s not as if you and Neal are going to be stuck in one room and have to share a bed!”

     “Unless you want to,” Neal quickly added. Peter then threw his own pen at his CI.

~~~~~~~~~~

     True to their word, the FBI sprung for the Presidential Suite at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel on Park Avenue. Peter made sure to have a “Come to Jesus” talk with Neal before he and Diana departed for their current digs.

     He handed his CI a knock-off Rolex with a hidden microphone that could be activated with a push on the stem. Also embedded was the expected microchip tracker that replaced the annoying, bulky anklet. Peter began with a stern lecture, stressing each and every word.

     “Do. Not. Take. This. Off!”

     “You worry too much, Peter. Relax—I’ve got this,” Neal blithely bantered.

     The FBI agent just rolled his eyes and continued with his sermon. “And give your work associate some respect. Stop pushing Diana’s buttons!”

     “Well, where’s the fun in that?” Neal then favored Peter with his dazzling con man smile, causing the older man to groan in frustration.

~~~~~~~~~~

      That first evening “Jacqueline” and “Donovan” made the rounds of all the hot spots in town where those who had it, flaunted it. Those patrons were the “beautiful” people who desired to be seen and envied by the common masses. After the clubs closed down for the night, they returned to their luxurious quarters in the wee hours of the morning. Diana locked the door to the master bedroom while Neal retreated to a smaller one. There was no way that he was going to endanger life and limb by trying to breach the formidable female agent’s fortress. He suspected that Diana probably slept with a can of mace, a Taser, and her Glock under her pillow. He would just have to endure her prickly attitude because, as yet, they had not been approached by anyone who seemed the slightest bit nefarious, or received even a hint of the desired invitation.

     The next afternoon, Neal embraced his persona of fawning escort, and submitted to being dragged from one haute couture establishment after another as Diana tediously amassed an appropriately posh wardrobe for her role. She claimed that, just like her boy-toy, she had to get into character as well! Neal drew the line at waiting in a salon while she got hair extensions. There was just so much that he was willing to sacrifice for his Fed handlers. He snuck out and found a decent coffee house to pass the time.

     While seated on the edge of the outdoor space, he suddenly became aware of a hard protrusion in the small of his back. Then a low voice growled in his ear, “Stand up nonchalantly and walk in front of me to the curb.”

     Neal did as he was told, and, once at the street, he was pushed into the back of a black limousine that immediately merged into traffic. It was just a minute before the window divider came down and a pale-complexioned, blond-haired man with an indeterminate European accent confronted him as the limo began to circle the block.

     “Mr. Caffrey, I presume,” the stranger began. “Although we have never met, I am very well acquainted with your reputation. Thanks to my researchers, I know of your exceptional expertise and your, shall we saw, lucrative little hobbies. I have also been told that you have been off the grid for several years, so that now begs the question of why you have suddenly reappeared and have attached yourself to the newly-arrived-on-the-scene Miss Sterling. Could the reason possibly be that you plan to steal something from her, or perhaps your plan is to steal something from me?”

     Neal was tense, but he had been in tighter spots before and probably would be again at some point down the road. That is, if he got to have a “down the road.” It all depended on how he could spin this. Thinking quickly, he answered his host with a sardonic little smile.

     “Okay, my friend, so you know who I am and what I do. Good for you. I don’t know what you pay your ‘researchers,’ but if they were halfway proficient at their jobs they could have told you that I’ve been tied up for the last few years doing a nickel in a Federal prison. However, at the end of that annoying little sabbatical, I faced the hard truth that rehabilitation just did not take on me. So, now that I am again out and about among the civilized masses, I’m getting back into the swing of things and doing what a man of my talents was meant to do.

     You see, even though I was incarcerated, I made it a point to keep up with current events in the outside world. I have been following the intriguing string of museum robberies that have spanned the globe, and, just recently, a nameless someone whispered in my ear about the fancy auctions that just happen to come on the heels of those heists.

     Up until this very minute I had no idea who was going to auction off the latest museum piece. I still don’t know your identify, and I don’t really want to know. My intention was simply to accompany my latest paramour to the gala, if she gets an invitation. You really should put her on the A-List. She has more money than she knows what to do with, and a greed that can never be satisfied. I have no doubt that she would pound any competing bidders into the ground.

     The short version of my true intention is quite simple. I actually planned to piggyback onto your creative little scenario. After Jacqueline acquired her latest prize, I intended to relieve her of it and disappear. Eventually, I would re-sell it and make my own tidy profit. She could never go to the authorities, so, for once, the spoiled ball-buster would have to take her lumps because there would be nothing that she could do about it.”

     Neal sat back nonchalantly as the limo made yet another circuit around the block. It was anybody’s guess if this guy was going to buy the tale that he had spun. Finally, Neal got his answer.

     “Well, Mr. Caffrey, if you are planning to ‘piggyback’ onto my business, it will cost you. Nothing is free in this world, as you well know.”

     “What did you have in mind?” Neal asked.

     “As a token of good faith between two like-minded individuals, you will need to pay what was termed a ‘banalty’ in medieval times. Banalties were payments made to a lord by his underlings so that they could remain in his good graces. So, my young friend, offer me something worthwhile so that any allegiance between us can continue and we can both profit.”

     Neal was winging it at this point. He made a show of giving this conundrum serious consideration. He could only hope that Peter would back his play.

     “Jacqueline Sterling likes baubles. She brought some particularly exquisite and valuable pieces with her to New York. She keeps me pretty close most of the time, so I can’t get them for you, but perhaps you could send one of your light-fingered friends to her hotel suite to steal them. She won’t report the theft right away, at least not until the auction is over, because she wouldn’t want the attention of the authorities. She may not even report their loss at all since they are heavily insured. So, it could be an easy-win situation for you. Icing on the cake, so to speak.”

     “Doesn’t she wear her jewelry during the day?” Neal’s host asked suspiciously.

     “Yeah, she does, so the theft will have to be at night when we’re asleep. I could make sure that she stays asleep,” Neal said softly, “just a little push into dreamland courtesy of something in her wine.”

     “Won’t she have the jewelry locked in the hotel room’s safe?” was the next question.

     “The lady,” Neal said wryly, “is used to people picking up after her. She is a total slob and just leaves her things wherever she happens to drop them, assuming that they will miraculously find their way into a closet, a hamper, a drawer or even a safe. Trust me, the goodies will be sitting out in plain sight, so no sweat for the sneak thief.”

     The nameless intimidating man gave this suggestion some thought for yet one more lap around the block before he came to a decision.

      “You have bought yourself a chance to keep your hand in the game, Mr. Caffrey, at least until we see if your proposal works out. We’ll be in touch,” he said quite ominously.

     Miraculously, Neal was let out of the limo at the same coffee shop where this little drama had all begun. He walked back to the hair salon and made himself comfortable in the deserted lounge. Utilizing a burner phone, he immediately called Peter. Of course, his handler answered on the first ring and Neal never even got the chance to say hello.

     “Neal, why have you been circling the same block for almost thirty minutes? I called Diana and she said that you were supposed to be cooling your heels waiting for her to finish with a hair appointment. Damn it, Caffrey! What are you up to now?”

     “Ah, Peter,” Neal breathed out mockingly, “you’re already missing me and checking my tracking device. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

     “Neal …...” Peter began in an aggrieved and menacing voice, as if he was barely keeping it together.

     “Peter …… ” Neal responded in the same tone of voice before he took pity on his handler and continued. “Listen, Buddy, first contact has been made, so stop grinding your teeth. You’ll earn yourself a root canal or two.”

     “Explain yourself,” Peter demanded.

     Therefore, Neal did in depth, ending with a request for the loan of some spectacular jewelry.

     “And just where is the FBI going to get authentic, pricey jewelry on such short notice?” Peter wanted to know.

     “Peter, there is a stupendously gaudy sapphire and diamond choker with matching earrings in the FBI’s evidence locker,” Neal informed him happily. “It would definitely fit the bill.”

     “And you know this how?” Peter demanded.

     “Maybe we should just skip the how for the time being, Peter, and concentrate on implementing a variation in our scheme to get Diana an invitation to this little shindig. Lots of big, prestigious agencies are counting on you, Partner. Let’s not let them down because trivial minutiae managed to sidetrack us.”

     There was complete and ominous silence on Peter’s side of the connection while Neal waited patiently. “Are you still there, Peter? I’m pretty sure that I can still hear you thinking.”

     “Yes, I’m still here, Neal—just waiting for my migraine to ease up enough that I can see straight,” Peter eventually responded tiredly. “We’ll be in touch,” were his last words, eerily the exact same sentiment that the criminal mastermind in the limo had uttered minutes before.

 


	2. The Snafu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Donovan" alias that Neal is using is a shout-out to Matt's role on "American Horror Story: Hotel."

     That evening, Diana looked quite elegant decked out in the sapphires and diamonds when she and Neal attended a Rachmaninoff concert at Carnegie Hall, and later dined at Le Cirque. The showy blue and white trinkets had arrived early in the afternoon stuffed into the toes of her recently purchased stilettos, which had been delivered to the suite along with her new fashion designer outfits. Just as in Neal’s “Rolex,” tiny tracking microchips had been expertly inserted within the necklace’s clasp and earring backs. Any authenticating jeweler would commit himself to the task of expertly studying the gems, and most likely would ignore the mechanics of the pieces. At least all parties concerned hoped that would be the case. Diana really needed to get an invitation to the fabled auction.

     Once back in the suite that night, Neal busied himself setting the scene. Diana’s shoes now lay helter-skelter in the main sitting area. Much to the female agent’s displeasure, the con man also demanded her silk stockings and a bra to strew about the room amidst empty champagne bottles and half-full crystal flutes. He then proceeded to the huge marble bathroom where he threw almost all the towels on the floor, and earned himself a hostile glare from Diana when he dumped the contents of her make-up case onto the spacious bathroom counter. Lastly, he carelessly pooled the sparkling necklace and earrings on the dresser top in the master bedroom.

     The stage was set for the curtain to rise on their little drama—well, almost. Neal looked pained as he glanced at Diana’s costume of choice that consisted of a jogging outfit. Neal had chosen to be bare-chested, but in deference to Diana’s sensibilities, he had chivalrously added silky sleep pants.

     “Seriously?” Neal whined. “We’re supposed to be young, lusty lovers determined to set the sheets on fire. You should look appropriately alluring and sexy, Diana, not like you’re ready to run a marathon. You need an erotic little negligee that shows some skin.”

     Diana just favored him with a steely-eyed glare. “When the time is right, I’ll look the part,” she finally answered him nastily as she flounced from the room.

     Neal was into self-preservation, so he decided it was prudent to pick his battles and retreated to an armchair in the main room of the suite. He hoped that Diana hadn’t locked the bedroom door. When things went down, he was going to have precious little time to coax open the lock.

     A little after 3 AM, the con man heard muffled shuffling in the hall outside of their door. Rising silently, he made a beeline for the master bedroom, whose door, thankfully, was ajar. Sliding effortlessly beneath the sheets, he realized that Diana was awake and alert. She was quickly divesting herself of the jogging jacket and stuffing it under her pillow, no doubt to join her other lethal paraphernalia secreted there. Now attired in only a lacy camisole, she flopped on her back, tense and stiff beside Neal. There was at least a foot of space between them that resembled a demilitarized zone in combat.

     The curtain was going up on Act One of their play, so Neal had to make it look real for their audience. Thus, he literally took matters into his own hands as he grabbed Diana’s arm and dragged her across the top of his own body. Her cheek came to rest on the left side of his bare chest and her leg was straddling his hips. With her ear directly over the con man’s heart, the female agent marveled at the slow steady cadence giving no evidence of anxiety or apprehension. She supposed that a caper like this was child’s play for a criminal like Caffrey, who probably never experienced adrenalin rushes of fear or panic. However, to her annoyance, the man beneath her was experiencing something else. It was fairly obvious with their more southern regions in such intimate proximity.

     “Caffrey! Stop it right now or I’ll hurt you,” she hissed as she tried to jerk away.

     Neal sighed but still held her tightly. “It’s not a light switch that you can turn off and on, you know. Just stop squirming, Diana, or you’ll make things worse,” he cautioned.

     “Well, you just better hope that we don’t have to run anywhere because that might be a bit difficult for you right now,” his partner for the night said maliciously.

     Any more banter was put on hold as both agent and con man froze upon hearing footfalls in the sitting area. A directed shaft of light projected onto the floor preceded the entrance of a shadowy silhouette into their bedroom. With catlike stealth, that figure checked out his environment, finally zeroing in on the exposed jewels that awaited him. With the prize in hand, he quickly made his exit, leaving as silently as he had come.

     When Neal and Diana heard the soft click of the outside door to the suite, they both dared to let out their pent-up breaths. Diana immediately rolled off Neal and delivered a fist to his ribs.

     “Did that help put a damper on your enthusiasm?” she asked sweetly.

     Neal flicked on the light and scowled at her. “You know, a more gracious lady would have taken that unintentional development as a compliment.”

     “In case you haven’t noticed,” Diana assured him, “I am _not_ a gracious lady!”

     “You’ll get no argument from me on that score,” Neal agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Using the burner phone the next morning, Diana and Neal made Peter aware of the theft.

     “The fish took the bait,” Neal put it rather succinctly.

     “Yeah, I know,” Peter said smugly. “We’ve been tracking the jewelry since it left your suite. The necklace and earrings have now taken up residence in a penthouse apartment on 5th Avenue. The name on the lease is Benedict Koehl, a Swiss national, and we’re contacting Interpol to pick their brains as to who this dude is and his connections.”

     “Gee, Peter, you’re really on the ball and keeping an eye on the prize,” Neal teased. “I’ll bet that continually watching my tracker as well as the jewels’ little blinking dot is giving you vertigo. Definitely not good for your migraine.”

     After a quiet moment, Neal continued thoughtfully, “I know that you can’t just rush in and arrest him for possession of stolen property, which could quite possibly include a museum masterpiece as well, because you don’t have a warrant.”

     “Exactly,” Peter confirmed. “I guess some of that light reading I gave you about warrant law sunk in. We might make a lawman of you yet, Neal.”

     “Please, Peter,” Neal begged. “Do not let those blasphemous words fall from your lips ever again. If that rumor got started, I’d lose my lifetime membership in _‘The Bad Boys Club!'"_

     Peter just snorted and didn’t deign to answer his CI before disconnecting. The coveted linen envelope, containing a card bearing the current date and 9 PM engraved upon it, arrived a bit later. It had been tucked neatly within the folds of the morning edition of the Wall Street Journal on their breakfast tray.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Neal and Diana kept a low profile and stayed in for the rest of the morning. At lunchtime, room service knocked on the door with their mid-day meal. A very familiar person trundled in the portable table containing an array of covered dishes and a silver coffee service. Peter, togged out in the hotel’s personnel uniform, removed the heat-conserving dome from one of the plates with a flourish. A sparkling bracelet lay before them. This one was not from any evidence locker. It had been quickly purchased at a chic boutique that specialized in Swarovski crystal, but it also had been tricked out with a miniscule microphone.

     “Now we’ve doubled the possibility of getting Koehl on tape hawking his latest masterpiece,” Peter said hopefully. “You both will probably be checked for bugs when you arrive at the gala, so de-activate the pieces in your watch and bracelet until after you have been wanded and granted admission to wherever this little rodeo is going down. When you turn them back on, we will be listening. Even if you are separated, we’ll still have ears on the scene. When Neal gives us the signal—‘ _This is an exquisite work by Manet’_ —we’ll move in for the takedown.”

     Neal was thoughtful. “The invitation doesn’t have an address, so, most likely, someone will be escorting us to the auction this evening. We won’t know where we are going until we get there.”

     “We’ve got that covered,” Peter reassured him. “Even if they check you for bugs before you leave this hotel, we’ll be watching all the exits and have agents located in a fleet of taxi cabs up and down Park Avenue that will follow your escorts to the eventual site. SWAT will be on alert and can quickly mobilize to the designated location. The two of you just duck and cover when the shock and awe starts.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     For the rest of the afternoon and early evening, Neal and Diana were forced to abide each other’s company awaiting the fateful summons. Neal suggested that they play strip poker to keep things interesting. Diana flipped him the bird and turned on the television. As 9 PM approached, they got into character once again. Neal looked extremely handsome in a tailored tuxedo that fit him like a glove, and Diana’s very fashion-forward claret-colored sheath clung alluringly to her curves.

     Fifteen minutes before the bewitching hour, the suite’s phone alerted them that a limo was awaiting them in the lobby. As they collected their coats and Diana’s purse, a tapping on their door made them pause. Two very sturdy men, also in tuxedos, entered their suite, and, as expected, used a hand-held device that scanned their bodies. Thankfully, both agent and CI had taken the precaution of deactivating their microchips. However, the first snag in the plan soon became evident.

     “Madam,” one of the two men began deferentially, “we are supposed to escort only you to the gala tonight. The invitation was for you, alone, and didn’t include your friend.”

     Diana didn’t miss a beat. She immediately placed a hand on her hip and favored the offending emissary with a glare that would have withered lesser men.

     “Where I go, Donnie goes,” she stated imperiously, looking down her nose and narrowing her eyes.

     Neal winced at her abbreviated use of his Donovan alias, but refrained from rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, he was somewhat impressed with Diana’s acumen. He wasn’t really surprised, however. He had seen this ferocious side of her before. Actually, he had sometimes been on the receiving end of it!

     “I’m sorry, Madam, but we have our instructions,” the escort answered her once again.

     “And I’m not accustomed to taking orders from underlings,” Diana replied nastily. “Now, you do whatever you need to do to rectify this situation. And be quick about it. I don’t like to being kept waiting, or for that matter, being dictated to by some lackey.”

     The man stepped back out into the hall to do this demanding shrew’s bidding through clenched teeth. After a brief phone call, he managed to arrange his features back to being bland again as he informed Diana that they certainly would be happy to escort both her and her friend to the gala. The ride down in the elevator continued in strained silence, and both Federal operatives very carefully refrained from scanning their surroundings on the street before climbing into their ride. They could only hope that friendly eyes were following their progress to their final destination.

     Their journey was short, the limo gliding to a stop under the canopy of The Plaza Hotel adjacent to Central Park. Trailing their chaperons into the world-famous establishment, they were eventually taken to a small private event room on the second floor. Again, they were checked for bugs, and their phones temporarily confiscated. As they strolled through an archway into the tastefully decorated room, they each furtively pushed the proper buttons so that listening ears were now part of the scene.

     The small but elegant space already held about twenty people milling around holding flutes of champagne and sampling foie gras and other delicacies from silver trays in white-gloved hands. Neal heard sundry different language being spoken by an apparent United Nations of potential bidders. At the far end of the room, situated on an easel, was the Edouard Manet 19th century painting which marked the pivotal trend that transitioned the age of Realism into the era of Impressionism. Neal and Diana sauntered over to the work of art so that Neal could get up close and personal. He knew, without doubt, that this was the real deal and whispered as much to Diana.

     “Let’s give it a bit more time before you give the takedown phrase,” Diana cautioned under her breath. “Apparently, not all the guests are here yet, and we need to give SWAT time to get into position before we give the go-ahead for all hell to break loose. Let’s wait until Koehl actually starts the bidding before you give the signal.”

     “Beautiful, isn’t it?” an unexpected voice suddenly said from behind them.

     Neal and Diana both turned, coming face to face with Benedict Koehl, the stranger who had bargained with Neal in the limo. He wore a simpering smile on his face tonight.

     Neal immediately held out his hand. “Donovan Hilton, and you are?”

     “I know the identity of each of my guests here tonight, Mr. Hilton, but my name is not important. In the right circles, people refer to me simply as ‘ _Mr. K_.’ Suffice it to say, that as your host, I am the person who possesses what you have all come to view, and hopefully want to take home. Do you like what you see, Miss Sterling?”

      The couple kept their own game faces intact, with Diana staying in character as she replied snidely, “It’s nice, I suppose. A bit tame for my tastes, but then I will never be able to fathom why some self-appointed authority way back in antiquity claimed that something was a ‘masterpiece.’ Who, exactly, were these supposedly knowledgeable experts? Why did everybody, on their say so alone, then jump on the bandwagon like adoring sycophants and agree that a particular painting was a miracle of the ages?”

     “Well, far be it for me to argue with the whims of those experts,” Koehl said condescendingly. “I merely provide what the market clamors to possess. Apparently, you must be interested, Miss Sterling, or you would not be gracing us with your presence tonight.”

     “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Diana replied quite sincerely.

~~~~~~~~~

      Unfortunately, the best-laid plans, no matter how foolproof, can go awry at the drop of a hat. As the last few stragglers were ushered into the little party, and the doors to the chamber were secured, a hush fell over the room as Koehl took center stage beside the Manet painting. He was in the midst of greeting his guests with a little prologue before beginning the bidding when an unexpectedly loud voice rang out.

     “What the hell is going on here, Mr. K!!? Didn’t you take the proper precautions, because, unless she has a doppelgänger, that woman over there is an FBI agent,” a middle-aged tuxedoed man proclaimed.

     Everyone was suddenly staring at Diana. “I believe that the gentleman has me confused with someone else,” she said haughtily, although, with a fluttering in her stomach, she remembered this White Collar suspect who had previously been in the FBI’s sights.

     “It’s not likely that I’m wrong,” the man declared heatedly, “since she grilled me for two days about my foreign interests in the Middle-East last year, right in that interrogation room on the 21st floor of the FBI building. I’m telling all of you, this bitch is an FBI plant, and probably so is her date.”

     Neal stuck steadfastly to Diana’s side and kept repeating over and over in his mind, _“Now would definitely be a good time for you guys to come swarming in. Need a bit of help here!”_ But no storm troopers arrived to save the day. Couldn’t they hear what was going on? 

     Everyone was suddenly standing very still and alert within the confines of the room, like deer in the forest when they caught the scent of the hunter. That didn’t last very long before the first throes of panic began to fracture the frozen tableau. Hushed whispers were heard throughout the assembled invitees. Koehl held up his hands in a placating gesture to try to quiet his guests.

     “Please, everyone, remain calm. I will deal with this unforeseen development. The auction needs to be postponed, of course, but I will contact each of you with another date so that we can meet again in a different venue. Now, please leave slowly, a few at a time, and return to the lobby of the hotel. Act normally, call for your limos, or have the doormen secure cabs for you. Gentlemen, I will make this right, I assure you.”

     One of the bodyguards kept a gun trained on Neal and Diana while Koehl and another accomplice quickly set about securing the painting in a soft chamois drawstring sack. After the last guest had hastily departed, their disgruntled host walked over to Neal and Diana.

     “It looks as if you have tried to run your last con, Mr. Caffrey,” Koehl sneered. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am that you have taken up with the enemy. They must be offering you something very valuable to entice you into their little empire.”

     “I guess you’ll never know what that is,” Neal replied coldly.

     Koehl then directed his two henchmen to take Neal and Diana out the back exit through the service door to the street below as he followed with the painting.

     As the little entourage descended the concrete steps, Neal remarked, “Ah—the service entrance! This brings back so many memories. I can’t tell you how many times in the past that I have made a getaway down similar back steps and through dark corridors, although I never had an actual gun stuck in my back at the time.”

     Diana was far from feeling nostalgic. “The FBI knows who you are, Benedict Koehl. Even if you do manage to make it out of the country, do not think that you can hole up in the Swiss Alps forever. Interpol, Europol—somebody will always be waiting for you to poke your head up.”

     Koehl did not seem the least bit intimidated by her vengeful words. “Surely, my dear, you are aware that there are so many places without extradition treaties in this big, wide world that we inhabit. I can conduct my business from any one of them quite easily. And right now, you and Mr. Caffrey are my ticket for the first leg of my little bon voyage trip.”


	3. Unexpected Outcomes

     Peter and Jones had been sitting in the Taurus for almost forty-five minutes since Neal and Diana had alighted from the limo and entered the Plaza Hotel. Peter’s gut was tied up in knots.

     “Why do you think neither one of them has turned on their microphones,” Jones asked apprehensively. 

     “I am assuming that they have,” Peter answered, “but whichever room they are presently in probably has a jamming device blocking the signal. This is definitely not good. I can’t send a SWAT team in blind to a building that size with so many innocent people milling around everywhere.”

     Just then, they heard Neal’s disembodied voice over the wire talking about a service entrance.

     “Their covers have been blown,” Peter said in a rush, “and now Neal is trying to tell us where they are being taken. Keep talking, Buddy—I’m listening even though you can’t hear me!”

     When Diana joined in and confirmed that Benedict Koehl was the perpetrator, Peter contacted the rest of his team as well as the SWAT commander and relayed the information and Koehl’s description. He instructed them to proceed to wherever the service entrance of the hotel was located, adding that the subject was armed and dangerous and was holding agents as hostages.

     As the tense minutes ticked by, Peter prayed that this fiasco would not end in bloodshed, especially the blood of those who had become friends as well as co-workers. The SWAT commander’s voice suddenly crackled in his earpiece to inform him that, apparently, the pursuing team had arrived too late. There was no sign of Koehl, or anyone else, for that matter.

     Peter was now beside himself with worry, and was furiously trying to pull up a response from the sluggishly recalibrating tracking chip in Neal’s watch. In the meantime, he silently urged Neal to keep talking—S _ay anything, Buddy, that can help us find you and Diana._

     As if the two partners shared a psychic connection, Neal’s voice again came over the wire. “It’s at least twenty miles to Teterboro airport and your ride to freedom. Are you a betting man, Koehl? The odds are that you’ll never make it to the New Jersey line.”

     “Shut up, Caffrey,” Koehl growled. “I have an FBI agent as a hostage, so you are definitely expendable if you persist in aggravating me.”

     Peter immediately radioed SWAT with Neal’s information. “Subject and accomplices are headed to the Teterboro airstrip. Get a SWAT counterpart team in Jersey to the site. Seal off the access road if they can get there before the fugitives. Of paramount importance is the safety of two innocents being held hostage. They are two of ours, so proceed with extreme caution before engaging the perpetrators.”

     Peter then threw the Taurus in gear, merged into traffic, and he and Jones put the pedal to the metal as best as they could on the congested New York streets. When they finally neared that fateful piece of real estate across from New York, the scene before them was daunting. Numerous dark SWAT vans ringed the runway of the airstrip, and a black limo, doors thrown wide, was slewed sideways on the tarmac. The air was turbulent around the montage from the turning rotors of a Sikorsky helicopter. Peter could make out three men, each holding a gun, hunkered down behind the open doors of the limo. Two of those firearms were nestled against Neal and Diana’s heads. It was the essence of a Mexican standoff.

     Peter definitely was not following protocol as he grabbed a flak vest from the backseat of his car. He slowly opened the driver’s door of the Taurus, took up his position behind it, and yelled to those trying to elude capture even though at least twenty assault weapons were trained on them.

     “Benedict Koehl—you are out of options! We are never going to allow you to board that helicopter. You are done, and you know it. Right now, we will charge you with art theft. Do you really want this thing to reach a point of no return where we will be charging you with murder? Killing a law officer is a capital punishment crime that carries the death penalty. Do you really want to go there?”

     Suddenly, Koehl boldly stepped from behind the protection of the limo’s door. His left arm held Diana in a vice-like embrace, and a Lugar pistol was firmly pressed against her temple. The man uncannily knew the dangers from snipers around him, and kept his own head directly behind his hostage’s.

     “I think that you will, indeed, let me leave, as well as my associates, because you value the lives of your brethren. However, if that is not the case, I am certainly prepared to die. Are you prepared to have your people’s lives on your conscience?”

     When no shots were fired, Koehl’s henchmen followed their boss’s lead and slowly slunk away from the limo’s protective frame. Neal, like Diana, was also being restrained in a tight grip with a gun to his head. Step by slow step, the trio with their human shields backed towards their waiting escape vehicle. For just a split second, Koehl’s attention wavered as he quickly glanced back to find his footing on the small set of steps that led up to the helicopter’s door. That lapse was Diana’s cue to make her move.

     With a fierce determination born out of desperation, she quickly bent her right knee and drove the pencil-thin stiletto heel of her shoe into the top of Koehl’s foot. He, of course, reacted instantly, crying out in pain and surprise. For just a moment, the dangerous pistol wavered. His cohorts found themselves temporarily distracted as well as they tried to figure out the nature of the new threat.

     That opening was all that Neal needed. Suddenly, without any warning, he broke free from his captor and was flying at Diana. Knocking her flat to the tarmac, he protectively covered her with his body as bursts of gunfire from the SWAT team as well as the criminals erupted. During the tumultuous exchange between the good guys and the not-so-good guys, Diana sensed rather than heard a soft thud, but she also felt Neal’s body above her jerk reflexively. With a slight exhale, the young con man slowly lifted his head and looked down at Diana with a surprised and confused expression. After a heartbeat, all of his weight then descended upon the female agent and his body became limp.

     Thankfully, the gun battle was over in a matter of minutes, and Peter was suddenly kneeling beside his two undercover operatives. He and Diana gently rolled Neal onto his back and noted with horror that his white tuxedo shirt was saturated with bright red blood. They could not rouse him; all they could do was apply pressure to the bullet hole on the right side of his torso as they awaited the EMTs.

     “Hold on, Neal. We’ve got you,” Peter kept repeating. Diana, uncharacteristically, seemed in a daze.

     When responding life-saving support arrived, and a still-unconscious Neal was being loaded into the back of the ambulance, Peter tried to accompany him on the ride to the emergency room. Diana, now barefoot with her outrageously high heels in her hands, roughly pushed her boss aside.

     “I’m staying with my partner,” she told her superior determinedly. Her resolute tone did not leave any room for argument.

     When a surprised Peter looked at her askance, she boldly clarified her statement with words of steel. “He may be your partner in the office, Peter, but today he was _my_ partner and he saved my life. There’s no way in hell that I’m leaving him!”

     Peter seemed to understand her mindset and graciously helped the long-limbed young woman maneuver her way up the steep steps of the vehicle, the skin-tight dress hiked up to her thighs.

     “Call me, Diana. Please. I’ll be there as soon as I can wrap things up enough to let Jones take over.”

     After Diana’s tense nod, the doors were slammed shut, and with siren blaring, the emergency van lurched into action. Just minutes later, Neal, laid out on his gurney, was being shunted through the trauma doors of the nearest hospital. It was only later, when Diana got her wits about her and was thinking more clearly, that she realized that her phone was still back at the Plaza Hotel. She didn’t want to leave the emergency waiting room to find a landline in case someone came out to let her know of Neal’s condition. This is where she should be, and she was not leaving unless someone dragged her out kicking and screaming.

     Waiting was hell, and her mind kept taking her back to an earlier time in her life. It gave her a feeling of déjà vu, and the hard-edged female FBI agent was suddenly a young girl again being shielded by her bodyguard, Charlie. The man had given up his life to protect his charge, and Diana never forgot the angst of holding his lifeless body in her arms.

     “Damn it, Caffrey, you’re not going to make me cry!” she vowed silently. “And you better not die, or I’ll ……” Suddenly Diana had no words to end that thought.

     Later, Diana was roused from her funk when Peter and Jones entered the silent room.

     “Any news,” Peter asked anxiously, but Diana’s only response was a slight shake of her head. As both newly arrived agents took seats on either side of her, it was a less than tactful Jones who tried to re-assure his co-worker.

     “Diana, don’t worry. Caffrey will be okay. He’s like a cockroach, you know. He’s capable of surviving a nuclear holocaust and continuing on just fine.”

     When both Peter and Diana lifted their eyebrows in disbelief at words that were meant to be comforting, the embarrassed man slunk off to get coffee for everyone so he wouldn’t put his foot in his mouth another time.

     “This is so wrong, Peter,” Diana finally said softly when they were alone. “I’m the professional who was supposed to be protecting an asset, not the other way around.”

     Peter answered just as softly, “Well, like it or not, that particularly infuriating asset was trying to protect a friend.”

     “Yeah, I know,” Diana answered miserably. “That’s exactly what’s so wrong.”

     Peter felt compassion for this conflicted young woman. “Diana, Neal may be a lot of things, but he has a good heart and he cares about those whom he values. You may not want to concede that he sees you as a friend, but, unfortunately, we can’t change Neal’s mind about this anymore than we can curb any other facet of his nature. Just accept the inevitable. It’s how I manage to get through the day with him.”

     Hours later, after many cups of vending machine coffee, a surgeon appeared garbed in the green OR scrubs that defined his vocation. He delivered the welcome news that Neal had undergone surgery to remove a bullet from his right chest, and that the surgery was successful. Even though the projectile had ripped a hole into the lower lobe of his lung, the damage was being mitigated by the insertion of a chest tube to drain blood and other fluid seepage until the pleura could re-seal itself. Baring any complications, Neal would heal quickly and uneventfully given his youth, and, best guess, could be discharged after ten to fourteen days. Right now, the patient was in the Recovery Room, but would be moved to an ICU bed when he was deemed stable.

     What seemed like another interminable wait ensued before Diana and Peter were allowed into the glass cubicle in the multi-bed ICU. Neal looked pale and drawn, and, although both agents spoke to him, neither was really sure that he even registered their presence or their words. The medical personnel attending him advised the visitors to go home and rest. Neal would certainly be more alert in the morning when the after-effects of the anesthesia had completely left his body. Diana started to protest, but Peter, asserting his authority as her superior once again, insisted that she leave.

     “You can come back tomorrow, Diana, after you have given your statement regarding tonight’s fiasco that morphed into a pursuit and hostage situation. Koehl, as well as his henchmen, all died in that cluster-fuck, so we need to have our end of things buttoned up tight so that we do not have OPR breathing down our necks. I’ve already phoned in my report, so I’ll sit with Neal for awhile in case he becomes more lucid.”

     Diana knew that she really could not defy her superior any longer. She had pushed the envelope as far as she could tonight. Although the tough, female agent would never admit it to anyone, the stress of the hospital vigil had taken its toll, and she felt as if she would collapse with just the gentlest of breezes. This whole nightmare had rocked her to her core. She wasn’t used to anyone trying to protect her now that she was an adult. She didn’t need anyone to watch out for her because she could do that all on her own, thank you very much. This was not how it was supposed to go, damn it!

~~~~~~~~~~

     Peter situated a folding chair beside Neal’s hospital bed. He watched the soft rise and fall of the light blue gown, and actually drew comfort from the steady rhythm of the various monitors that softly beeped a mesmerizing, hypnotic tempo. That melody meant that Neal was still here with them, among people who all loved him in their own way. Was “love” actually the right word? Peter, the wordsmith of crossword puzzle fame, knew the exact definition of the word meant, “experiencing deep affection for someone or something.” So, yeah, “love” was, without a doubt, the right word. Peter unashamedly reached out and clasped Neal’s limp hand in his, whispering words that would never be heard by the unconscious man.

     “You did good today, Neal, and I’m proud of you. However, I’m sorry to have to break it to you, Buddy, but I think that your membership in _‘The Bad Boys Club’_ has expired.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     At some point during the early morning hours, the young man’s movements caused the monitors to herald a change in rhythm. The discordant sound awakened Peter who had nodded off, chin to his chest, in the hard chair. He noted that Neal’s eyes were now open but he looked confused, so Peter grabbed his hand once more. Neal settled once he recognized a familiar face. He even gave Peter a tentative smile before his expression turned to worried concern.

     “Diana—is she okay, Peter?”

     “Yep, Sir Galahad, she’s fine. She’ll be by later today to reassure you, and probably ream you out for stealing her thunder,” Peter said fondly.

     Actually, that was a bit of an understatement.

    “Neal, you’re an idiot!” Diana declared emphatically later that morning as she replaced Peter at Neal’s bedside.

     “Really? I thought that I was being a gentleman,” the con man replied, pleasantly surprised that Diana had addressed him by his first name.

     “You know that I can take care of myself,” she claimed defensively.

     “Of course you can, Diana.” Neal was not about to argue with her, at least not when he was flat on his back with a hose stuck in his side. There would lots of time to taunt her later when he was in a strategically better position. He had not yet decided if he would milk it for all it was worth. How much of a cad did you really want to be? Surprisingly, he realized that he didn’t want to be that guy.

     Just like every other endeavor in his life, Neal made healing look easy, and was discharged from the hospital in a little over a week. Once he was recuperating at home in his loft, Diana made frequent visits after her workday was over. The drop-ins were usually brief and stilted, but Neal was always glad to see her and appreciative of her well-intentioned efforts. One Saturday, she appeared with two bags in her hand. A white bakery sack held two of the cronuts that Neal relished, and the other bag contained a cribbage set. She gave Neal first dibs on the pastries as she took out the little wooden board and pegs. Neal provided the Italian roast coffee as they took their places at the table.

     “Are you sure that you don’t want to re-think the strip poker option,” Neal teased after they had finished their snacks and re-located to the couch. “If you’re lucky you might get to see my war wounds.”

     “Ewww,” Diana said as she wrinkled her nose. “Neal, hasn’t Peter clued you in that you’ll never be on my dance card?”

     Neal just rewarded her with his most brilliant smile. “Now, Diana, I’m sure that you’ve heard that variety is the spice of life.”

     Diana just shook her head in frustration. “Don’t you ever stop, Caffrey? You’re incorrigible!”

     “Yeah, I am,” he agreed good-naturedly, “but you just have to love me in spite of it.”

     The two finally got down to their game, side by side, on the sofa, making small talk as the game progressed.

     “So how did the daughter of a diplomat inexplicably wind up being a Federal Agent?” Neal asked innocently.

     Diana took a breath. “It was because of a very special man in my life.”

     “Aha! I knew it. Tell me the sordid details,” Neal begged, waggling his eyebrows suggestively before recoiling in alarm as Diana pulled back her fist.

     “Wounded hero here,” he admonished her before she could land a punch.

     Diana let her upraised arm fall. “He wasn’t _that_ kind of man in my life, you shameless letch! He was my bodyguard, and he was killed in the line of duty trying to protect me.”

     Neal sensed there was a lot more to this story. “Want to tell me about him?” he asked, suddenly very serious.

     Diana looked at this young, exasperating man beside her who, if she would guess, was probably as vulnerable as she was, and hid it just as well. He had known immeasurable grief and loss, but doggedly soldiered on. Against her better judgment, Diana bravely decided to take the frightening plunge into this new bewildering relationship that they were forging.

     “I’ll tell you about Charlie if you tell me about Kate. That’s what friends do, right—they share.”

     “Yeah,” Neal smiled softly. “That’s what friends do.”


End file.
